Country of the Crepescule: Local Boy
by XFDryad
Summary: Can you ever really go home again?


Disclaimer: Alas, alack, they are not mine. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

**Title**: Country of the Crepescule: Local Boy  
**Author**: Dryad  
**Rating**: PG13, MSR/UST, Deep Thought Spoilers: 'Pilot', 'Deep Throat', 'The Blessing Way',  
'Paper Hearts', 'Never Again', 'All Things', post-'Triangle', pre-'Dreamland', events take  
place in S6, some referrals to scenes cut from the shown eps Archive: Yes please. A note where would be nice.  
**Summary**: Can you ever really go home again?  
**Note**: All of the stories in this series are standalones. Further commentary at bottom.

**Country of the Crepescule:**  
Local Boy available now  
Mother's Milk available now  
Scene from a Road Trip future release  
Catch a Falling Star available now  
Do You Like Our Owl? available now

Feedback: Be brutal. You know you want to.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~Prologue**:~~~~~~~~~~~~~

X-Files Office  
November

"What are you doing this weekend, Mulder?" Scully asked, bemusedly watching  
her partner struggle with the bottom left hand drawer of his desk. She folded her  
arms and leaned against the nearest filing cabinet.

He frowned and glared at the drawer. After a moment he rattled the handle  
experimentally, then quickly jerked it back and forth. He sat back in his chair  
with a huff of frustration. "I'm going home."

Scully raised an eyebrow.

"The Vineyard," he amended. "There's some legal stuff I need to take care of."

"Your lawyer can't fax it over?"

He shrugged. "It's something I'd rather do there."

"When do you leave?"

Mulder fiddled with his watch. "Tomorrow morning."

"Want company?" She wanted to bite the words back as soon as they left her mouth  
at his expression of pleased surprise. There were specific reasons why she resisted  
impulsive thought around Mulder. Too bad she couldn't quite remember what any of  
them were.

"I thought you were going to your mom's?"

"She cancelled," Lame, lame, lame. "A friend showed up unexpectedly."

The corners of his mouth quirked. "Really? Are you sure? No laundry to do, boyfriends  
to find?"

"Nope."

"Okay. Meet me at my place at seven."

**~~~~~~~~~~~~1~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_"You want to begin again _  
_Pretend you're innocent_  
_ If you believe You can convince yourself, _  
_I'm sure You can convince yourself_

_This town never gave you much back _  
_Just rumours and a whispering attack _  
_This town is not your friend Never mind_  
_ the loose ends"_

_Morphine/Take Me With You/The Night_

The flight to Boston was short and turbulent. It was a good thing Mulder had planned  
on driving to Cape Cod, because both CapeAir and USAirways were fully booked for the  
day. Finding a way out of the 'new and improved' Logan Airport arteries proved that  
Mulder could best any sailor in turning the air blue. Scully was impressed.

It was still Crane Season in Beantown, the Big Dig continuing into its umpteenth year,  
another billion spent to route the city's traffic underground. No doubt the city, which  
felt more like a big town than a lively metropolis, would be much the better for it.

The drive to the Cape took over two hours, post lunchtime traffic combined with the  
threat of an oncoming Nor'easter and single lanes slowing everyone to a snail's pace.

Scully was ecstatic at the brief glimpses of the Atlantic she was able to catch as they  
drove over the bridge and onto the Cape itself. Forty minutes later they entered  
Hyannis, a town geared towards the tourist market. Strip malls littered its outskirts,  
while boutiques lined the inner streets. Surprisingly enough, evidence of poverty and  
tenement housing was prolific amidst the equally apparent upper and middle class  
wealth.

Mulder turned down a nondescript two lane road shadowed by derelict trawlers on  
the left and ugly motels and condos on the right. He parked in a large lot behind the  
Super 8 conveniently across the tiny ferry terminal.

Twenty minutes outside the harbor, having caught the last ferry for the day, Scully  
found herself lost in the pleasure of being at sea once more. Three in the afternoon  
and dark was falling, skies of cotton and ash darkening perceptibly to graphite. On  
deck the wind whipped her hair into her face and supercooled her spume spattered  
cheeks as she swayed with the ship's roll, balancing lightly on the soles of her feet.  
The ride was glorious, nature herself reminding humanity of its place in the world.

The houses lining the harbor were, the farther one went from the terminal, bigger  
and more ornate. Glimpses of several architecturally designed three storey mansions  
could be seen through the bare branches of the forest surrounding them.

Eventually it occurred to her that Mulder had been in the toilet for an awfully long time.  
With a silent curse at her own stupidity, she went belowdecks and loitered by the snack  
bar to warm up. She bought a cup of coffee and a ginger ale, sat down and waited  
for Mulder to reappear.

She was adrift in memory when Mulder slid across the wooden seat across from her.  
He accepted the soda without comment.

"You should have reminded me," she said.

He wiped a sudden burst of perspiration from his brow, looked out of the scratched  
plastic window. "I thought you'd enjoy it."

The proverbial lightbulb clicked on in her mind. "You canceled your ticket, didn't you?"

Guilt flitted across his face.

"Damnit Mulder - flying would have taken what, all of fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure I could've survived your death grip."

"I do _not_ have a death grip."

"Besides," he continued, bonelessly slumped against the bulkhead. "We always took  
the ferry when I was a kid."

"We're flying back, all right?" Scully pursed her lips. She  
didn't like the way he looked, pale and sweaty and miserable, but it  
was his own stubborn fault. Sometimes she wondered if that was part  
of the attraction, his stubbornness and her desire to make him concede  
and sweaty and miserable, but it was his own stubborn fault.

The ship juddered, corkscrewing into a trough. Low moans sounded throughout the  
ship as the wind found places to slip into. The waves were becoming increasingly rough,  
and even she began to feel the first pangs of nausea as the ship rose and fell.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?" She came out of her reverie with a shake of her head. "What?"

"You looked about a million miles away."

She twitched one shoulder and finished her coffee.

Mulder toyed with his soda cap. "Tourist season was the best and worst time to be  
on the Vineyard. So many strangers, Scully. Pretty girls in miniskirts and halter tops,  
eating vanilla and chocolate creamees, hot flippers dusted with powdered sugar, feeding  
seagulls popcorn," he paused for a moment. "But it was better when they went away.  
Mom would bring us to the beach, and we'd have cold roast chicken and warm German  
potato salad for lunch. If we were lucky she brought thermoses of corn or clam chowder,  
the good stuff, not that Manhattan crap," he fell silent and resumed staring out the window.

She wanted to know more, but refused to ask. Funny, how they could save one another's  
lives yet feel constrained when it came to the personal. How much more personal could  
you get, covering someone's back?

Scully didn't particularly care for Martha s Vineyard. There was an air of superiority, a more  
precious than thou atmosphere. Maybe it came from the casual aura of wealth exuding  
from the yachts in the harbors and the seasonal nature of so many of the island's  
inhabitants. It was the kind of place that always made her wonder where the poor  
people lived.

Oh, it was pretty enough, rolling hills topped with scrub and low trees, wide sweet  
meadows and flats laden with golden green sea grass and cattails. The towns were  
all very colonial, but not in the grand style of the Carolinas and Virginia, more in terms  
of the idea of colonialism and New England s Puritan past than any recognition of its  
current reality. She much preferred Nantucket, where evidence of the common man  
abounded.

The ferry docked in Oak Bluffs, where they were to pick up a rental car and drive the  
few miles to West Tisbury. Oak Bluffs was the essence of a town once dependent on  
the sea for its living, in fact it looked like something out that old Robin Williams movie  
musical, Popeye. But now tourism was its mainstay. Many storied houses littered the  
bluffs while smaller painted lady cottages were tucked away here and there. Surprisingly  
there was nary a Widow's Walk in sight, which she thought were a staple of the New  
England coastline.

The islands were tiny, far enough away from the mainland to make it another world  
entirely. Samantha Mulder must have been the talk of the Vineyard for weeks and

said the words before the thought occurred she shouldn't. "Were you happy here?"

Mulder glanced at her, smiled wanly.

Scully was sorry she'd brought the topic up as they entered West Tisbury, population  
1500. Minutes later he parked in front of a two storey house.

"Here we are."

Bill Mulder's home was large and unsuitable for a single man.  
It was imposing in a House of the Seven Gables kind of way, dormer  
windows jutting out from the full attic, white clapboards and black  
shutters, black railings, the gunship gray paint on the floorboards  
of the porch just beginning to peel, all surrounded by plenty of  
manicured lawn and shrubbery. Inside, Scully wasn't sure what she  
had expected, but the revelation of his father's fondness for  
comfortable leather furniture and old collectibles made some of  
Mulder's predilections all the more understandable. He brought her  
to one of the guest bedrooms, where she stowed her things before  
taking another turn around the house.

Mulder joined her in the living room. "I was thinking we could catch a bite at Beckett's."

Beckett's turned out to be a cafe bookstore just off of Main Street. It was comfy, filled  
with soft, raggedy couches and coffee stained armchairs, tables to eat at, and a  
couple of strawberry iMac's against one wall. Beckett's sold new and used books, and  
heaps of politically incorrect paraphernalia. Scully particularly liked the D.A.R.E. To Think For  
Yourself bumper sticker and the CIA Reveals JFK Shot Himself tee. The cd's for sale leaned  
heavily towards long-haired women with acoustic guitars. Thankfully the caf catered  
to carnivores as well as vegetarians, and she was hungry enough to order a chicken  
burger and fries.

Mulder gave her a funny look.

"I do occasionally indulge, Mulder."

Later, he stole the discarded bread-and-butter pickles from her plate. "What about  
you, Scully? Have you ever imagined yourself on an island?"

Scully shrugged. "Who doesn't?"

"Not a desert island, someplace like this, maybe?"

"Not like the Vineyard, no. Nantucket's more my style."

"That tourist trap? Who'da thunk it," He shook his head. "I didn't realize you had a style."

"We moved around so much when I was young, I guess I've always been a little  
nostalgic to be claimed by someplace."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be."

But she had never experienced it, and so couldn't counter his argument. Envy  
was a familiar flavor in her mouth, albeit one she hadn't tasted in years. After high  
school the ability to pack and move at a moment's notice had been a blessing, yet  
every now and then there was the niggling doubt that maybe it wasn't such a good  
thing, maybe the ability to attach oneself to a place provided stability and a sense of  
belonging. After a few silent moments she said, "I'm going to take a look around."

"Good idea," he said, grabbing the slip of paper the waiter had left on the table.  
"I've been dying to take a look at the sci-fi section, see if any of my old books are  
still here."

What was it about small towns? Either they belonged in every joke ever made about  
the movie Deliverance or they were havens of sanity and free thinking. Beckett's children's  
stacks were a multiculturalist's paradise, and the American Politics section extraordinary  
in its diversity of opinion. Par for the course, she supposed, given the multiplicity of  
presidents who chose to vacation on the island. Two more stacks devoted to foreign  
culture and politics, biography and travel, plus a smaller, odder section of cookbooks  
and ecology. Wandering the fiction aisle, she picked out Allende's Daughter of Fortune,  
and found Eucalyptus, which her mother had been recommending for months. To her  
right Mulder had hunkered down and was deeply involved in the search for something  
readable. She peered over his shoulder. "Isn't that cheating?"

"What, haven't you ever read the end of a book to see if it's worth buying?"

"No, of course not."

He stood, paperback clenched in his hand, gazing down at her with a fond, amused  
glint in his eye. "C'mon, never?"

"Fox? Fox Mulder?"

The speaker was behind Scully, but judging by the chagrined  
look on Mulder's face he was half-pleased, half-embarrassed to be  
recognized.

"Oh my god, it is you!"

"Pam, nice to see you again. Pam Jones," Mulder nodded towards  
Scully. "This is Dana Scully."

No hello's for her, then. Mulder's women, good grief, did he  
make everyone territorial? Scully blinked. She'd have to include herself on that one.  
And she hadn't even slept with him. Pam flipped her long, feathered brown hair over  
her shoulders and Scully fought the urge to grin. The hair combined with the blue and  
pink floral jumper, longjohns and white turtleneck just wasn't flirtation material. Mulder,  
on the other hand, dressed all in black, was sex on two legs. Sometimes she wasn't  
sure he was all aware of the effect he had on women, or at least on her, and then at  
other times, well, he never let good innuendo go unused.

"Oh my god, you are coming to the Ball, right? You have to come, Amanda and Chris  
and everybody would just love to see you again."

"We hadn't planned on staying that long," Mulder said, putting one hand on Scully's back.

"Fox, it's tonight god, have you already forgotten? They say you can take the boy  
from the island, but not the island from the boy, but maybe they were wrong in your case!"

Scully glanced at Mulder. He wasn't noticeably wincing, but his eyes were definitely  
screaming.

"Pam?" a man called.

"Andy," she yelled over her shoulder. "Look who I found!"

Andy turned out to be a stocky man the same height as Mulder, but with the marks  
of age far more visible in the laughlines around his face, his salt and pepper hair.  
He didn't offer to shake hands. "Fox," he said, nodding at Scully a beat later. "Hi."

"How's it going, Andy?" Mulder asked.

"Fine, fine."

"Fox is coming to the Ball tonight," Pam said. "aren't you?"

Scully raised an eyebrow at Mulder's expression. He didn't want to go, yet in his  
gaze she could see the temptation to see other people he knew, perhaps to indulge  
in memory of a different time. Personally speaking, she wanted to experience  
another side of Mulder. She pushed her luck and murmured, "Might be fun."

He gave her a look she couldn't interpret, then nodded. "All right, we'll go."

"Great!" Pam squealed. "We'll see you at the Meeting Hall."

Scully watched Pam flounce away, Andy following close behind. She felt like apologizing,  
although for what she wasn't quite sure.

After paying for their books and the meal, they returned to the house. Mulder made  
himself scarce, presumably at his lawyer's, and Scully decided there was nothing wrong  
with bathing for a second time in a single day. The bathroom had a lot to be desired,  
although the basics were available. Unfortunately there were no bubblebath materials,  
not even a drop of bath oil to soothe the skin. Faint memories of an afternoon spent  
flipping through some of Missy's more down to earth books brought Scully down to  
the kitchen in her bathrobe. Searching through the shelves she soon found the required  
items and spirited them back upstairs before Mulder caught her in the act.

While the water ran she poured a handful of rolled oats, Quaker brand, appropriately  
enough, into the center of a cheap cotton handkerchief, added a few drops of food grade  
almond extract, a couple of cloves, and half a cinnamon stick. Sure, she might smell like a  
cookie, but it was better than smelling of island water. Drawing the corners up, she  
made a knot and tossed it into the tub. Perfecto. She stripped and climbed in, leaned  
back and closed her eyes. Now she could relax.

"You alive in there?"

Scully surged up, startled out of her doze by Mulder's sharp rapping on the door. She  
swallowed back the adrenaline rush and shook the water out of her eyes. "Yeah,  
yeah. What time is it?"

"Seven thirty. If we show up in the next hour there'll probably still be some pie left."

"You and your pie fixation," she muttered.

"Scully?"

"I'll be done in few minutes, Mulder."

"Okay."

When his footsteps had faded, Scully hauled herself out of the lukewarm water and  
hastily dried herself, hopping out of the water she's splashed on the floor. God, she'd  
forgotten what old houses in New England were like in winter. Cold, draughty, creaky,  
and generally uncarpeted. There was a lot to be said for carpeting, or at least wool  
lined slippers. Jesus, what had she been thinking? The Vineyard in November with a  
Nor'easter crawling up the coast and she hadn't brought slippers. Idiot.

Back in the bedroom she realized she hadn't brought anything vaguely partylike to  
wear. Black would have to make up for the lack of anything fancier. Experience had  
taught her to always bring professional looking clothes on non-work related jaunts  
just in case. She quickly drew on trousers and a vee-cut, long-sleeved pearl button  
cardigan, retouched her makeup, then went downstairs only to find Mulder pacing  
to and fro in the hallway. "I hope this isn't fancy dress."

He looked her over, smiled ever so slightly. "You look fine, Scully."

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~2~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_"You want to burn your bridges I'll help you _  
_start the fire You want to disappear I've _  
_got the manual right here"_

_Morphine/Take Me With You/The Night_

The Meeting Hall proved to be precisely that, a large building with long wooden tables  
and benches in one half of the single room, an open space where people could dance,  
and a raised stage at the very back where the band was playing. Tables of food and  
drink were pushed against one wall. The hall was decorated with more jack-o-lanterns  
than Scully had ever seen, including garlands of plastic pumpkin, corncob, and turkey  
lights of the kind commonly found at Wal-Mart. The rustic feel was strengthened with  
sweet-smelling hay bales for additional seating, plus cut-outs of pilgrims and even an  
honest-to-god Drugstore Indian in one corner.

Thankfully just about everyone else was dressed as casually as herself. Children ran  
about with either irritating or charmingly free abandon, depending on one's mood. Over  
the noise she said, "This isn't quite what I was expecting, Mulder."

He placed one hand on her back and steered her towards the food. "Pretty down  
market for a high falutin' island, hunh?"

Scully snorted. "This is an attempt to be like the little people?"

"Oh yeah."

She'd never really thought about the class system on the Vineyard. She had learned  
that heaps of wealth didn't necessarily equal taste or good manners, indeed, it money  
seemed to encourage the opposite. Mulder was a gentleman in an age of impoliteness.  
Yet at the same time he was so down to earth, she often forgot his upbringing and  
background apart from Samantha. His parents had been moderately wealthy in their  
day, before ordinary folk had been priced off the island. She didn't know why she'd never  
asked him about it. She pursed her lips and shook her head minutely. It was just another  
one of those things they didn't speak of.

Mulder handed her a Dixie cup of cider and a paper plate topped with chocolate chocolate  
chunk cookies, turned to get his own cup, and was promptly and literally pulled away by  
a gaggle of women. He mouthed a 'sorry' over his shoulder. Scully didn't mind in the least.  
In fact she felt rather proud of herself for getting him to come in the first place. Okay, she  
might be just a little hypocritical there she hated being ambushed by the past as much  
as he did. On the other hand, she wasn't the focus of their attention.

The cider and cookies accompanied Scully as she wandered around the Hall, looking  
at the pictures lining the walls. There were lots of photos of schooners and yachts, tall  
ships in full regalia, sailors holystoning wooden decks, the usual panoply of ship life. There  
was a painting of a Nantucket Sleighride, the boat's white wakewater streaked with crimson,  
the faces of the men filled with terrified glee as the whale pulled them further from their ship.  
She stopped beneath a huge knitted hanging rug of the Pequod before her fateful final  
meeting with Moby Dick. Framed diagrams of whales and the old instruments of their  
annihilation surrounded the rug, along with yellowing scrimshaw and a few dilapidated  
pieces of baleen.

She moved on to the next exhibit, barely managing to avoid being run over by a herd of six  
year-olds on the rampage. Ah, of course, Jaws. A young Steven Spielberg wore an unaged  
grin, one arm slung around Roy Scheider's shoulders as they both stood in front of a huge  
shark hanging from a hook on a dock. More pictures, presumably of locals, of the film set,  
of the long lines during the premiere in some unnamed town, the infamous poster,  
signed by the cast.

Scully finished the last cookie and tossed the plate into a nearby trashcan, bumped into  
someone as she turned around. "Oops, sorry."

"No problem. I'm Jack Millhouse," the heavy man said. "You came here with Fox, didn't you?"

Scully nodded politely and took a step back. With luck she would escape the worst  
of his alcohol laced breath.

He chuckled and sipped whatever was in his cup. "News travels fast in a small town.  
Vanessa Hollander phoned my wife from the ticket office in Hyannis just to tell her  
Chilmark's most famous son was coming home."

Good grief. Next time someone invited them to a party she'd keep her trap shut.

"Have you two been married long?"

Scully blinked. "We're not married."

"Ah, didn't think so, he's not " he was interrupted as a woman who looked remarkably  
like Mulder's mother came up and grabbed him above the elbow. "Betsy, this is I'm sorry,  
I didn't catch your name?"

"Scully. Dana Scully."

Mrs. Millhouse's smile didn't reach her brown eyes. "Of course. We've heard so  
much about you over the years."

"You've heard my name before?"

"Bill Mulder and I were close friends. I was very surprised when I read he had passed on."

Scully pasted a polite look on her face despite her distaste for these two people. In  
spite of her experiences, she had never gotten used to the kinds of people who could  
read about the death of a 'close friend' in the newspaper, nevermind when he was murdered,  
and treat it as though it were an ordinary event. She glanced at the darker depths of the  
room, hoping for a glimpse of Mulder.

"Teena's rather fond of you."

Fond? In what universe?

"Is he going to sell the house?" Jack asked. "He'd get at least a million. Boy's a fool  
not to sell. Hell, Bill was a fool not to sell. Hard to believe there was a time when you  
couldn't give away a tar paper shack in this town, and now you can't buy one for love  
nor money."

"Jack, you know that's not true," Mrs. Millhouse scoffed. "That house, both of them,  
actually, are good long term investments. Fox is absolutely right to rent them out."

Scully was on the verge of making up an excuse to leave when she noticed Andy  
approaching. His changing from jeans, turtleneck, and plaid shirt to jeans, kermit  
green sweater and brown sports jacket did not make a noticeable dent in her initial  
impression of him having been a linebacker. Rescue me, rescue me, she silently chanted.

He nodded a greeting at the Millhouses. "Hope you don't mind, I've come to steal  
her away. Pam wants to interrogate her about Fox."

"Oh, well, it was nice to meet you," Mrs. Millhouse said. "Tell Fox to give us a call before  
you both leave."

From the frying pan into the fire? Scully pursed her lips and followed in Andy's wake.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it."

"The Millhouses aren't my favorite people in the world either," He slowed, eyed her.  
"How long have you and Fox known each other?"

"Six years."

"Yeah? Long time. I'm surprised he brought you here."

A reply didn't seem to be needed, so she kept quiet. Andy led her to the foyer, where  
Mulder was holding court. He'd certainly turned the charm on, judging by his half-lidded  
gaze and lazy smile. Scully rolled her eyes. He was going to be insufferable for the rest  
of the evening now that he'd gotten his attention fix.

"Ladies, I've brought his better half," Andy said, motioning her to join the group and  
then leaving her to her fate by backing away.

A statement which didn't go over well, considering the measured looks she received.  
Mulder, of course, was quietly amused.

"Fox, when are you moving back to the Vineyard?" asked a skinny blonde woman.

"Not anytime soon," he replied.

Translation: unlikely in the extreme. Scully wondered if anyone else heard the sarcasm  
present in his tone. She doubted it. Of course, the future was something else they never  
discussed unless it related to conspiracy and colonization.

Pam, who'd changed into an evergreen corduroy jumper and a powder blue turtleneck,  
sneered in the form of a smile and said, "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name?"

Sure she had. "Dana Scully."

"Right, Dana," Pam gestured towards the other women. "This is Hannah, Jill, Sue, Bonnie,  
and Amanda."

The blonde, whose name Scully had already forgotten, said, "So how do you two know  
each other?"

Scully jumped in before Mulder had a chance to speak. "We're partners."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

A soft chorus of disappointment ran through his loyal followers.

"Fox tells us he works for the Government," asked a hawk nosed woman with mousy  
brown hair and unnaturally tanned skin. "What do you do?"

Ah, so she wasn't the only one to prevaricate this evening. "I'm a doctor."

"I am too!" cried a blunt featured woman who wore coke bottle glasses. "My specialty's  
in Opthamology. You?"

"Forensic Pathology," Scully said, mentally wincing at the woman's ironic choice of field.

"Oh. That's. . .different."

"Come on, Hannah, no more doctor talk," said the blonde. "We've heard it all a million  
times before anyway. And besides, now that we've got Fox here I want to know all  
about his sister. Did you ever find her, or at least find out what happened to her?"

Mulder rocked back on his heels, the naked bulb overhead highlighting the faint yellow  
bruise under his left eye.

"I heard that vacuum salesman did it, what was his name, Rochester?" asked Hannah,  
nodding enquiringly at Pam.

"Roche," Mulder said, scrutinizing the depths of his Dixie cup. "His name was John  
Lee Roche."

"Oh, that's right," said the blonde. "Didn't you have something to do with him? I remember  
watching Liz Earle interview someone from the FBI on WBZ - was that you?"

"Right, I remember now!" Hannah pushed her glasses further up her nose. "Some  
girl got kidnapped and you rescued her, didn't you? Wasn't that you?"

"What about Samantha? Did you ever find her? Didn't you have something to do with him?"  
interrupted the mouse.

The blonde's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "Hello, am I invisible here? Didn't I just  
say that?"

"Shut up, Jill. Fox?"

"We haven't found Sam yet," Mulder said.

"Oh, that's too bad. She was a good kid."

"You knew Samantha?" asked Scully, raking the woman up and down. "I didn't realize  
you were the same age."

The mouse glared back at her. "We lived on the same street. My brother used to  
babysit us."

"God, is that what he called it?" Pam said with a knowing grin. "I seem to recall him  
spending a lot of time with Debbie Wiltse on his child watching forays."

Mulder perked up. "Oh hey, whatever happened to her?"

"She got pregnant at the end of senior year, gave birth to a black baby, can you imagine?  
Her parents were horrified," said the mouse.

"Wouldn't you be?" the blonde Jill - dryly replied. Hannah tittered behind her hand.

"I saw Fox in her company plenty of times," Pam cast a sly look at Scully before returning  
her attention to Mulder. "Did she 'babysit' for you, too?"

"Debbie used to be on the track team," Mulder explained to Scully. "Is she still on the  
island?"

The mouse shook her head. "God no. Her parents hustled her off to the mainland as  
soon as she started to show. Davey Eckland saw her in P-town last summer, said  
she was doing really well designing fashion clubbing gear for the gay season. She owns  
some little hole in the wall on Commercial Street."

"Y'know it's too bad about Caroline, she would've loved to have seen you," Pam  
said to Mulder. "She's still convinced you love her."

Mulder grimaced.

"I think she's delusional," Jill nodded emphatically. "I mean, it's so obvious he loves  
me, and only me. Isn't that right, Fox?"

"Oh, oh yeah. It's always been you," he deadpanned.

"See? Told you," Jill blew a raspberry at the mouse. "Nyah."

A lull fell in the conversation, enough for Scully to hear the band play the opening bars  
of String of Pearls above the murmur of the crowd. "Come on, Mulder. Let's dance."

He nodded. "See you all later."

Scully was pleased to feel his hand resting on its familiar spot on her lower back. Maybe  
that would give those bitches something to talk about other than Samantha and people  
who had no chance to defend themselves. God, the nerve of them! And to be so blatant  
about it and then not to even care what effect they were having or maybe that was the  
point, to see what reaction they would get, have something else to discuss and reinterpret  
until Mulder was nothing more than a rumor, his real existence wiped out by lies spread  
on top of obfuscation.

"You okay, Scully?"

"I'm fine," she said, moving around a grandfather and his two young charges. After a  
moment she glanced up at Mulder. "Those were your friends?"

"I'm not sure they would classify as friends. At the time they were the people I hung  
out with, and despite what you just heard, they're all pretty brainy, or at least they  
were when I knew them."

"You seem to attract brainy women."

Mulder stepped in front of her with open arms, eyes bright, lips quirked. "I guess so."

Okay, she'd fallen right into that one. She clasped his hand and shoulder and wondered  
how much she could get out of him. Did she even have the right? They were both private  
people, although she had told him about Jack without prompting. Maybe she should inquire  
later on, when they both on more familiar territory.

"No," he said.

She looked up with eyebrows raised. "No what?"

"I didn't date any of them."

"Mulder, I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to. You've been dying to know since this afternoon."

Scully conceded the point with a self deprecating smile. "Sorry. It's just, I've never  
been here before. I don't know what to expect."

He shrugged. "Me neither. It's pretty weird. I haven't been to one of these balls  
since I graduated high school."

"I thought you moved to Greenwich after the divorce?"

"Oh, I did. That's what they decided, school in Connecticut, then I'd summer here  
with my father. But for whatever reason, we'd alternate holidays, so my father would  
either come to the mainland, or we d come here, which inevitably meant making an  
appearance at one of the balls or during the New Year's dinner."

He sighed and she felt badly for bringing it all up again. How strange it must have  
been compared to everyone else he knew. Of course, every family had its rituals that  
were odd to strangers. Hers was no exception. She took a breath and moved the topic  
to what she really wanted to know about. "I bet you were a chick magnet."

"Chick magnet?" Mulder smirked. "Did you just say 'chick'? Say it again, Scully, I dare you."

"Chick," she said firmly. "Unless you'd prefer 'babe'?"

The song changed to something else slower and more sultry, and she shifted down  
another couple of notches, no longer offended and tense. "So, were you?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I got my fair share of - ," he hesitated. "Let me rephrase that.  
I wasn't popular, exactly, so much as appreciated for my skills with sports and homework."

Scully understood only too well. "I still think you were a chick magnet. Smart, good-looking,  
athletic."

"You forgot fucked-up."

"I was trying to be polite," she said, which earned her a delightfully toothed grin.  
She smiled back.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_"Take me with you when you go now_  
_ Don't leave me alone _  
_I can't live without you _  
_Take me with you _  
_Take me with you when you go"_

_Morphine/Take Me With You/The Night_

Scully liked dancing. More to the point, she liked dancing with Mulder. He was graceful  
and courteous and never gave the impression of leading her around the dance floor,  
although there was no question he was leading. A giant metaphor for their whole  
relationship. Yet that wasn't fair to either of them. After all, she chose to follow.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"Just woolgathering," she said, reassuring him with a faint smile.

He huffed a laugh, nodded. His amusement dropped when glanced over her head,  
"Want to get out of Dodge?"

She was surprised at his abrupt change of mood. "I'm all right, unless you'd rather go?"

"Sorry. I don't mean to be too late," His face underwent a subtle transformation,  
from warily relaxed to G-man At Work.

Turning to see what he was looking at, she caught sight of the Millhouse's heading  
their way. "Oh, Mulder, I met them earlier, they wanted "

"Fox," Mrs. Millhouse said. "It's good to see you again."

"Mrs. Millhouse," Mulder leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, shook her husband's  
free hand. "Mr. Millhouse. How have the two of you been?"

"Oh, we re doing wonderfully well," Jack replied, sloshing liquid over his hand as he  
motioned with his Dixie cup. His wife pulled a handkerchief from a hidden pocket and  
began to wipe it off. "Whoops. We've been to Florida, made the annual trip to St.  
Andrews for the tournament. We'll be heading to Munich for the Christmas Bazaar in  
a couple of weeks."

Scully was less than impressed with the litany of travel and what she supposed they  
thought was a cunning mention of a family holiday. These people didn't know when to  
let up. Or did they? She was used to this one-upmanship at the Bureau when it was  
targeted at herself, but she hated it when people tried to do the same to Mulder in her  
presence. Unfortunately she didn't know these people, couldn't make any biting comment  
back. And Mulder would be the worse off for it if she did.

"What about yourselves?" Mrs. Millhouse asked, looking pointedly at Scully.

"Yeah, what are we doing?" Mulder said. "And don't say I never take you anywhere."

"I have no idea," She answered in the same light and mocking tone, staring right back  
at him. "I never know where I'll end up when you're around."

"You know, you two just make a lovely couple. It's so good to see you with someone  
again, Fox. After that whole business with Caroline," Mrs. Millhouse shook her head.  
"Such a shame, when she went overboard on that trip to the Caribbean."

"It was a long time ago," Mulder said.

"Yes, I think she became a little mentally unhinged afterwards, if you know what I  
mean. A nice girl, but not quite right. She never stops talking about you."

"Mm," Jack swallowed the last of his drink, gestured at Mulder. "Speaking of Carrie,  
I know Jacqueline would have loved to see you as well. She's based in Zurich these  
days. Married to a three star Michelin chef, three kids and another one on the way."

He patted Scully on the arm. "Take my advice, skip the kids and go straight to the grand  
kids, they're much more fun and you can give them back at the end of the day."

"So my mother tells me," Scully answered, amazed at how easily she could still be made  
to feel small despite her age and the things she had done, the things she had seen.  
Spender Senior had nothing on these people.

"I'm sure she adores your children, my dear," Mrs. Millhouse toyed with her pearls,  
her smile still not reaching her eyes. "Jack, I see Roger and Cynthia Fox, if you'll just  
excuse us for a moment, there are some people we need to see "

They walked away, leaving Scully too drained to be pissed off. "Mulder, I'm sorry."

He looked down at her curiously. "For what?"  
"I shouldn't have pushed you into coming here."

He shrugged. "C'mon, one more dance and then we'll go, okay?"

Regaining a measure of comfort in his arms, she distracted herself by watching the  
other couples on the dance floor with an investigator's eye. A man kept staring at  
a woman dancing with a teenaged boy. Jealousy flared in his face of the woman or  
the boy, Scully couldn't tell. Over there, closer to the stage, two women laughed,  
one touching the other on the wrist, smiles hiding secrets that weren't very. A little  
girl wriggle-danced to the music by herself, solemnly clutching her corn dolly and sucking  
her thumb. By the wall a man picked his teeth, next to him, a group of girls giggled and  
played with their clothing, eyes flashing boldly every time a male of the appropriate age  
walked by in what passed for coyness in this modern age. And here, another couple,  
so completely wrapped up in their own world that Scully found herself envious for the  
same communion of spirit.

Communion of spirit. Missy would be pleased she recognized it when she saw it.  
Of course, Missy had said that she and Mulder already had a deep bond but Scully  
wasn't sure her sister had ever understood what kind of bond they had had at that  
stage, the second year of their partnership. No, her sister had never understood that  
trusting someone with your life, trusting them to back you up and cover you when the  
shit hit the fan wasn't the same as being in love with them. Hell, she hadn't understood  
the difference herself until she'd been assigned to the basement, and then, over time,  
it had become clear.

Funny, she'd thought she had loved Jack and Daniel and Ethan, and yet now, looking  
back, she didn't know why. Oh, they'd all been charming in their own way, but now she  
wondered what they'd seen in her. She had been so pliable, so eager to please, subduing  
her own nature in favor of their desires.

"Scully?"

Why had she done that? Mere habit? The result of being a navy brat, used to obeying  
her father when he was home, and disobeying her mother when he wasn't? Was it  
because that's what her mother did, in her own way?

"Hey, anybody home?"

Scully blinked, abruptly aware of Mulder's concern and the jostling of the crowd as  
people flowed around them to dance to something lively and upbeat. She shook her  
head with a rueful smile. "Sorry. Just having an epiphany."

"A good one, I hope," he said, ushering her away from the dancing.

"I was thinking about the men I used to date."

"Oo, I try to avoid thinking about that as much as possible," he quipped.

She looked at him quizzically, unsure of his meaning, unsure if she was prepared  
for his answer if she asked for clarification.

They gathered their coats in the foyer and stepped out into the night.

The crisp scent of new snow was heavy in the cold air, the promised Nor'easter almost  
ready to tip over onto the island. Scully matched Mulder's swift pace as they walked  
back to the house, along Main Street, past Beckett's and the Post Office and the volunteer  
firehouse. The road was cracked and raw, and she was glad she'd worn her black boots  
instead of heels. She shivered and tucked her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat,  
wishing she'd also had the foresight to bring a hat. The breeze had picked up, driving  
dead leaves skittering along the road, making open mailboxes whistle, blowing her  
hair into her face with maddening frequency. Approaching the Mulder driveway, Scully  
said, "Let's go for a walk."

"You sure?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I've warmed up. Besides, I need to work off those cookies."

They continued up the gentle hill, the trees creaking in the wind, uncurtained  
windows from houses on either side of the road casting just enough light to see by.

"I was thinking about what you asked me earlier," Mulder said. "If those women  
were my friends."

She made an encouraging 'mm' and concentrated on the beauty of the night, which  
was not yet dark and stormy.

"I don't know if you were anything like me, Scully, but I was rather desperate for  
close friends after Samantha disappeared. It's very difficult, being an only child  
when you've known what it's like to have a sibling to count on."

What could she say? She understood the void he spoke of, perhaps even more than  
he realized. "Did you suddenly find yourself with a plethora of female friends?"

His eyebrows shot up. "How did you know?"

"It's a chick thing," she murmured. And how. An intelligent, attractive boy with a family  
tragedy - god knows she would have come running, too.

"A chick thing, hunh. Well, anyway, I used to hang out with Debbie and Caroline and  
everyone during summer vacation. Dated Pam for about a week until I found out  
she'd hooked up with Andy the previous year."

"Ah."

"And that was the end of that. I'm glad they got married, he was crazy about her."

"I rarely dated in high school," Scully pondered the wisdom of letting him know so  
much about her, then threw caution to the wind. "Partly because we moved around  
so much, and partly because my parents didn't approve, but mostly because they  
kept putting me into all girl Catholic schools."

"But Scully, everyone knows you can't beat a good Catholic education."

She punched him lightly in the arm. "Just for that, I'm not telling you any more."

"Aw, c'mon, the nuns whip the fun out of ya?"

"Mulder!"

He was immediately contrite, or at least as contrite as he ever got outside of a hospital.  
"You can pick our next case. . ."

Scully stopped and considered. "All right, you're on."

They walked a few more steps, Mulder peering eagerly down at her.

"And?"

"And what?"

"You said you rarely dated, which suggests you had at least one evening out with a  
member of the opposite sex."

"That's why they put the I in FBI, Mulder," she said primly.

"Scully..."

She sighed, unable to keep from telling him whatever he wanted to know. And why  
was that? Why did she always give in? Because he was her friend? More to the point,  
who was safest to talk about? "A couple of guys, Simon and Paul, in eleventh grade."

"Simon and Paul?"

"One crack about the other disciples and I am so out of here."

He held up one hand in surrender, fighting a grin.

Taking a deep breath, she began again. "They both went to St. Michael's, and we  
met at a dance god, this could be the plot for Heaven Help Us. There's really not much  
to tell. Neither of them lasted long - " she shook her head at his intense interest, embarrassed  
even though she had yet to tell him anything. " it was quite obvious why they were  
dating me. And they weren't very interesting people."

"Is that it?"

"Isn't that enough?" It wasn't in her anymore to spill her secrets. She'd been cured  
once and for all after Ethan, after Billy Miles and a light in a forest, after Mulder had  
stumbled towards her through guarded gates with bewildered eyes and a befuddled  
expression. Her life was filled with closed boxes, all of them labeled Pandora.

At the top of the hill she stopped and viewed the scene below, brushing hair out of  
her eyes. In the distance porchlights shone through bare branches like tiny Christmas  
lights, decorated with the flickering popcorn-and-cranberry corona of cars on the road,  
heading wherever home was on this November night. The wind carried the faint  
sounds of traffic through the trees.

Speaking of which, her mother wanted her home for the holidays. Home, such an odd  
word. Home was family and possessions, being a part of a societal structure she wasn't  
sure existed for herself any longer. At one time she'd wanted the word and all of the  
meanings it held in its single syllable more than anything in the world. She'd grown  
up since then. Had reinvented herself after high school, again after medical school, at  
Quantico had started down the path to becoming the woman she'd always wanted to  
be, in the basement became someone else entirely.

Most days she was sure the price had been worth paying.

"Hey Scully, I found the old path," Mulder called, playing a mini Maglite at the edge  
of the road. "We can go back this way."

Although the hill was bald, the scrub brush was almost waist high and pulled at her  
coat and pants. The ground was the consistency of sherbet underfoot, a kind of hard  
softness, sandy loam shifting with each step she took. Soon enough they entered  
the forest, the trees mere teenagers compared their mainland cousins, pasture  
succession having almost completely transformed the former farmland.

"How well do you know this trail, Mulder?" Scully asked.

"I used to run up here once, sometimes twice a day. Why do you ask?"

"Forests and I just don't get along," she grumbled, pushing thin branches away  
from her face.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~4~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

_"I don't care about the things _  
_I leave at home _  
_'Cause things can't really keep you company _  
_When you're alone_

_You say you want my help _  
_I can't help myself _  
_You want my help _  
_I can't help myself"_

_Morphine/Take Me With You/The Night_

"So tell me about Caroline," Scully said, immediately wishing she'd made it a  
request rather than a demand.

Mulder took a few more steps, then stopped and turned around. He flicked  
the flashlight up to see her face. "Why do you want to know?"

"Um, just curious. Besides, you grilled me on my old boyfriends."

"I knew there were more than two."

"Turnabout's fair play, Mulder," she made shooing motions and he obediently  
began down the trail again.

"She had a thing for me in third grade. Are you jealous?"

"Oh, please."

He continued on a few minutes later, having navigated around and ultimately through

the branches of a tree which had fallen across the trail. "She was nice. In retrospect  
it's clear she wanted to be more than friends, but I was oblivious. She was, ah,  
on the skimpy side."

"Skimpy?"

"Hormones, Scully, hormones. Mine were not interested in anyone who couldn't  
sufficiently fill a bra."

Ouch. She wasn't touching that one with a ten foot pole. Hell, a sixty foot pole. She  
thanked God he wasn't one of those men who felt the need to apologize for the unintentional  
suggestion that she didn't sufficiently fill a bra. Okay, maybe there had been days in  
the past when she wished she looked different, nonetheless, now she was quite happy  
with what she had. Everything else was icing on the cake of being alive.

"Of course things have changed since then."

Ah.

"When I was sixteen I was invited to sail to the Caribbean with her family. We got  
caught up in a storm off Cape Hatteras. I watched her get swept overboard, Scully."

"Jesus - "

"While I clutched the mast, cowering in fear, she was tossed back onto the deck  
with the next wave. I reached out and grabbed her wrist as she slid by. She managed to  
get on her knees and attach herself to the mast as well."

"Mulder, that's amazing!"

"Yeah, well. She was different afterwards, we both were."

She wondered if this incident was the cause of his seasickness. Normally she'd never  
consider such an idea, yet there plenty of psychosomatic illnesses listed in the textbooks,  
and he had said his family used to take the ferry on a regular basis. He had saved a  
woman's life, yet didn't understand the consequent increased strength of her attraction  
to him. God, he could be the most obtuse man. . .

Scully pushed through a bank of rhododendrons and stepped onto the road next to  
Bill Mulder's house. Once inside she happily shed her coat and gloves, followed Mulder  
into the kitchen.

He scrounged through the shelves, pulled out two small boxes. "Do you want Tetley's  
or some herbal crap called Red Zinger?"

"Whichever one has the least amount of caffeine," she said, sitting down at the small  
breakfast table next to the back door. She studied him as he gathered two cups, found  
a jar of honey, put water on the boil, puttered around looking for snacks.

Mulder was the most curious mix of the stereotypical and the domestic male. On the  
one hand, so to speak, was his video collection, for which he was mostly unapologetic,  
although he'd long since stopped trying to shock her with it, and on the other he was  
this gentle creature who cared for people, saved their lives, yet never gave it a second  
thought. Of course, he was also infuriatingly obstinate and unstintingly loyal, even to  
Diana. Arrogant, but justifiably so. Passionate about his beliefs.

There was that last incident, yet another occasion where he'd hared off by himself,  
ending up in the hospital with a crazy tale starring everyone but the Gunmen. Oh, and  
apparently she had saved the world.

That part she liked.

He was her friend, although oddly enough, not her confidante.

Perhaps that was the reason she couldn't be open with him they already shared so  
much and she needed private time in her own head. None of the other men she had  
da - become close to had given her space. Or maybe she had been too scared of their  
disapproval to seek it on her own. Daniel had been a shining beacon in her life, always  
the promise of eventual conjugal freedom whispered in her ear, until the day he had  
accused her of being just like his wife. He had fallen swiftly in her estimation thereafter.  
Jack had felt the lack of control at work so keenly he'd sought to control his life even  
more, and by default hers as well. As for Ethan, well, he had never understood why  
she couldn't be a deskbound FBI agent, even worse, why she hadn't screamed and  
yelled to be reassigned to Quantico. His insecurity in general, and in particular his  
jealousy of her burgeoning relationship with Mulder had been one of many straws to  
break that proverbial camel's back.

And what about Mulder? He was so complete, so unto himself, seemingly so  
carefree. What did he ask of her that she didn't ask of herself?

"You re going to wear your eyes out if you don't stop staring at me, Scully."

She immediately glanced away, examined the scuff marks on the wide boards of  
the floor. "Sorry."

The furnace thumped on, blowing lukewarm air through the vents, the only sound  
besides the gurgle of hot water as Mulder poured hot water into the mugs. He brought  
them over to the table, went back to the counter for a spoon. "Something on your mind?"

"It's a stupid question," she said, wrapping her cold hands around the mug.

He tsked. "There are no stupid questions "

" just stupid answers," she finished along with him. She delayed a moment further,  
stirring honey into her tea and removing the bag even though it really needed to  
steep longer. "It's almost the holiday season."

He added two lumps of sugar to his own cup from the bowl on the table, then  
snagged the spoon to stir it with. "And?"

"I've been thinking about home. What it means."

"Well, it's generally considered to be a four letter word indicating the place where  
one lives."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You know what I mean."

Mulder smiled, motioned for her to continue.

"Do you consider the Vineyard home?"

He blew on his tea. "In as much as any other place I've lived, yes. I'm both repelled  
and drawn here, to the familiar and the unknown, to where the weight of history is  
heaviest."

"I don't have anything like that," she said, finally connecting the dots in her own  
head. "It's what I wanted, growing up, what I meant earlier when I said I wanted  
to belong to someplace."

"To be claimed," he answered.

"Mm. Until tonight I'd never seen the disadvantages."

"Ah."

"Mulder - " Scully paused, trying to think of the most polite way to ask her question.

"How do I deal with people like the Millhouses?"

She nodded, sipped her tea. Too weak, too sweet, otherwise nicely vitamin C-y.

"You learn to ignore the subtext. For the most part it works. And here, it gives them  
less ammunition, although as you heard tonight, everything I do has the potential to  
be turned into a weapon."

At J. Edgar she had considered him paranoid and defensive from their first case  
onwards, but over time had come to recognize most of his reasons for being so.  
Now she understood where it had originated, and sympathized. Doubtless she would  
have reacted the same way.

"You do the same thing, Scully."

"I do not," she declared.

Mulder eyed her over the rim of his cup as he leaned back in his chair. "I'll concede  
you were more open when we first met, yet I know just as little and as much about  
your family background as you know about mine."

"There's nothing to tell. We moved around a lot. It was difficult. What else do you  
want to know?"

"That's up to you."

Scully gritted her teeth and stood up. She poured the remainder of her tea down  
the sink. "I'm going to bed."

"Scully "

Upstairs, she changed into satin pyjamas the dusky purple of a concord grape,  
slipped on her robe. Damn the man, how did he manage to turn everything around  
with such ease? She removed her earrings, losing the back of one when it skittered  
over the side of the bureau. Cursing under her breath, she got on hands and knees  
to see where it had gone. He could pinpoint the exact spot of her discomfort, and then  
increase the pressure without thought to how she might feel. And what was this  
nonsense about her never telling him anything?

Hadn't she needed him in San Diego? Hadn't he spent time with her mother during  
her abduction? Didn't he know she was as open as she could be?  
The post was nowhere to be found. She got to her feet and plopped down on the  
double bed, listlessly flipped through Daughter of Fortune. Not what she wanted to  
read. She wanted something light and inconsequential, like a women's magazine or  
those books Charlie used to call graphic novels, but were in actuality nothing more  
than expensive comics. With a groan she rubbed her face, hung up her clothing to air  
out, packed away her dirty underwear and socks. Toiletries in hand, she headed towards  
the bathroom only to meet Mulder as he stepped out of his room. He carried his own  
toothbrush and toothpaste tube.

Scully stopped, flipped a hand towards the bathroom.

"You first," he said.

Lips pursed, she slid by him, noted his quiet steps behind her, and didn't bother to close  
the door. From the corner of her eye she saw him fold his arms and lean against the  
jamb. With the firm intention of ignoring him, she brushed her teeth and washed her face,  
patting her skin dry with a musty smelling hand towel. When next she looked into the mirror,  
he was looking back. She unclipped her hair and grabbed her brush, and on a sudden  
whim, offered it to him instead with a faint smile of apology.

To her surprise, he took it. Not since her cancer had anyone brushed her hair besides  
herself. Back then it had been her mother or a nurse, Tara, the two times she had  
come to visit with Bill and Matty.

Mulder turned out to be an experienced brusher of hair. He gathered her hair in one  
hand and began at the very ends, gradually moving until he was working the brush  
from the bottom of her skull up and out. She closed her eyes and basked in his gentle  
touch. He moved to the crown of her head, stroking and untangling far past the point  
it needed to be done.

Finally his hands were still, fingers warm where they touched her bare neck and  
satin-clad shoulder. She gazed at his reflection, said softly, "You're my best friend."

Something flickered in his eyes, and then he was gone, having laid the brush on edge  
of the sink. With a sigh, she closed the door, peed, and returned to her room to read.

Later, it was the third creak which roused her from half-lucid, half-dreaming state she  
was in. Raising her head off the pillow, she listened intently, called out, "Mulder?"

The door opened and he poked his head in the room. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"'S all right," she murmured, jacking herself up on one elbow. "You okay?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Mm, I know. I think there must have been caffeine in that tea after all, I haven't  
really slept myself," she knuckled her eye and yawned. "Come talk to me."

After a moment he came in, a pale wraith in grey sleeping pants and a short-sleeved  
tee shirt, gingerly sat on the bed. He turned towards her briefly, then found something  
interesting underneath his fingernails. "Have you ever gone back to any of the places you  
lived as a kid?"

Scully yawned again, laid back down. "Only where Bill's been stationed. It's all the  
same, really. Base housing is pretty drab, or at least it was when I was growing up.  
Dad only started buying property after we had all left."

"Maybe he didn't want you wrecking the place."

She chuckled at his wry tone. "We would never have been so bold. I think we were  
all more scared of what Mom would do rather than Dad. She made us play outside a lot."

"Same here."

A comfortable silence fell. Scully rolled onto her back and lifted the window curtain,  
glimpsed a bright star before it faded underneath smoky clouds. "No snow as of yet."

"Nope. Despite all the sturm and drang, I don't believe we'll be getting any bad  
weather tonight."

"So," she said, turning back onto her side. "What kept you up?"

Mulder shrugged. "Oh, y'know, the usual. Global conspiracy, alien invasion, Penthouse  
Reader's Letters."

She snorted, noticed goosebumps on his forearms. Reaching out, she touched him gently.  
"God, you're freezing!"

"I'm fine. Hardy New England stock and all that."

"C'mere," she said, drawing the blankets back and patting the mattress. She didn't  
often allow herself the pleasure of his company without work as a buffer.

He went very still.

She didn't give herself the chance to rescind the offer. "Fish or cut bait, Mulder."

A second passed, and then another before his head hit the pillow, feet swinging up  
beneath the blankets, his back still towards her. She tossed the covers over him,  
took a deep breath, and snuggled closer.

"Jesus, Scully, you just wanted to steal my heat."

"Mm hmm," She hadn't realized how cold she actually was even though there were  
two wool blankets beneath the heavy quilt. This was the life. It was nighttime, she  
was in bed, she was getting warmer, and Mulder was literally by her . She was on  
the verge of falling asleep when he spoke again.

"So, good looking?"

She had to think for a long moment before she remembered her earlier comment. "Yup."

He reached back and squeezed her lower thigh. "It's good to know I haven't lost  
my charm."

"Go to sleep, Mulder."

It was the dark odor of freshly brewed coffee which finally woke Scully up from an odd  
dream involving Missy, Skinner, and a bicycle. She felt good, though, refreshed and  
ready for the new day.

Even if it was only six thirty in the morning.

Foregoing a shower in lieu of the two baths she'd had the day before, she dressed,  
repacked, and went downstairs in search of breakfast. Unfortunately there wasn't  
too much in the way of food in the cupboards now that the season was over, so  
she settled for coffee, some chewy apple rings and a couple of almond biscotti spread  
with peanut butter. Not the best meal she'd ever had, but far from the worst.

Assuming Mulder was out for a run, she grabbed another cup of coffee and sat in  
the kitchen, reading Eucalyptus as the day steadily brightened. She was some thirty  
pages in when the front door opened and closed just short of a slam.

"Morning," she muttered as he stalked into the kitchen, drank a glass of water, then  
stalked out and up the stairs without so much as a 'hey'. Okay. He was having one  
his black days. It wasn't surprising, considering all he'd had to deal with the day before.  
She returned to her book, quietly aware of every sound in the house.

The thud of something hitting a wall and then the floor, probably shoes being tossed  
aside. The rush of water when the toilet was flushed. Pipes banging as the shower  
went on. The faint creak of the floorboards outside of her room, more squeals as Mulder  
came down the hallway, returning to the kitchen. He poured the last of the coffee into  
a cup and stood at the counter, arms folded defensively.

Scully put the cream and black Beckett's bookmark in to hold her place, and waited  
expectantly. After awhile she said, "Long run."

He stared out the window above the sink, stonefaced. She followed his gaze but  
found nothing apart from a few ravens in the back yard, standing around looking like  
they knew the secret of the universe.

"No snow," he finally said. "When I was little there was always snow by this time of  
the year. I used to go out and pick cranberries wherever I could find a bog or a bush,  
leave trails for the birds and the squirrels. Did you know that squirrels don't hibernate?  
They have to come out and search for food, make their way to their summer caches,  
or else they starve to death."

"Or get eaten," she ventured.

"Or get eaten."

If he wanted her to know, he'd tell her when he wanted to, and not a moment  
before. Still, she was bothered.

"The ferry leaves at nine " he nodded at her frown. "I know you wanted to fly out,  
but they're booked solid. I've already returned the car, so we'll taxi to Vineyard Haven  
and take the other ferry to Woods Hole. It's a faster trip, and we can take the bus  
directly to Logan."

"Are you all right?"

"I've got to get my things together, Scully," he started towards the door. "If you'll  
excuse me."

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Epilogue~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

The seas had calmed, but were still rough enough to make Mulder quiet. Scully lost  
interest in her book at the bus station conveniently part of Dunkin' Donuts and decided  
to people watch instead. Unfortunately, besides students who had obviously spent  
the better part of Saturday night partying hard, there weren't all that many people  
about. The store looked like every other Dunkin' Donuts she had ever been in, with  
the same humdrum pink, tan, and white interior, cracks in the linoleum floor, greasy  
corners, smelling of coffee and sausages and sugar. Surprisingly enough, country  
rather than pop rock wailed through the speakers in the tiled ceiling.

On the hard burnt orange plastic seat next to her, Mulder fidgeted, slowly demolishing  
his empty coffee cup.

Her stomach rumbled, and she told herself that donut holes were a perfectly acceptable  
snack if she didn't eat too many. With this in mind she bought a dozen, figuring Mulder  
would polish off whatever she didn't finish.

He was standing in front of the window, hands on his hips, apparently contemplating  
the plethora of Saabs and Jetta's in the parking lot when she returned. She offered  
him the bag, but he shook his head. She reached in and grabbed a chocolate hole,  
started nibbling. Should've gotten more coffee to wash it down with, but she'd already  
had two this morning.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?" She looked up at his uncertain tone.

"What did you think of my father's house?"

She chewed and swallowed, snagged another hole, this one coconut covered. The  
house was big, good for a family with children. It got lots of light, and was pleasantly  
decorated in a clean masculine style, much like Mulder's own apartment. It had a  
goodly sized kitchen, plenty of back yard, neighbors not too close, but not too far  
away, either. Private, yet not secluded. "I liked it."

"Did you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Could you see yourself living there?"

She ate the rest of the hole, wavered about saving the rest for later. Well, one  
more couldn't hurt, right? "Is that a proposal?"

"Just answer the question, Scully," he chided.

"I guess," Although uncomfortable, she refused to squirm. His peripheral vision  
would pick up, and he'd give her that look, the one which said he knew exactly what  
she was thinking.

"Good," Mulder sat down again, a bright smile playing on his lips. "Good. Any of  
those for me?"

She mutely handed him the bag.

"Too bad these don't come jelly-filled."

"Your ties would never survive," she muttered, glad his mercurial mood seemed  
to have passed.

"Don't deny it, I know you secretly love my ties."

The sad thing was, she did.

"Hey, there's our bus. Time to go home."

Scully dutifully followed him to the dock and onto the bus, slipped into the window  
seat so he could stretch his legs in the aisle.

There it was again, home.

Perhaps she was defining the word too narrowly. Perhaps home really was the heart  
and not any particular physical location. And if that was the case, then she was like a  
hermit crab, carrying her shell with her wherever she went. And Mulder had moved in  
at some point, which made it damned crowded at times, although she did have the  
occasional sojourn in his shell, too. All protestations to the side, she didn't want it any  
other way, not any more. So she didn't need what society had deemed as appropriate  
for a woman of her age. Sure, she had an apartment, but more often than not it was  
simply the place where she slept and did laundry, the base from which she launched  
herself at the evil in the world, not a nest to be feathered and padded and guarded over.  
To hell with society, home was wherever and whatever she decided it would be. She  
chuckled silently at herself, nodded at Mulder's questioning look.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Let's go home."

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~fin~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Author's Notes: After reading a few fics in which our heroes drag themselves to high school and med school reunions, I wanted to do one of my own, but without making it a Reunion reunion, if you know what I mean. I always thought CC did a good job in choosing the Vineyard as Mulder's birthplace it suits him in a very particular way. I'm beginning to think that maybe Scully needs to meet folks from her past, too. Only the Muses know for sure.

The title of this series comes from the poem "The Man From Athabaska" by Robert "The Cremation of Sam McGee" Service.

The Hyline actually only runs from Hyannis to Oak Bluffs May through October. The year round ferries are from Woods Hole and New London, CT, but what the heck, it's been a long time since I've been in either town and I can't remember what they look like.

Eucalyptus - Murray Bail, fantastic story, fabulously written.

Nothern Sun - D.A.R.E. To Think For Yourself, Mental Floss, God Was My Co-Pilot But We Crashed Into A Mountain And I Had To Eat Him, plus lots more fabu merchandise available here

P-town - Provincetown, on the toe of Cape Cod


End file.
